The book felt unnaturally heavy in Ludwig’s skeletal hands as he opened the first page. Each word seemed to pierce his mind, each sentence a thorny knot that tightened with every attempt to untangle it. The pain grew more intense the longer he read, as if the very text was rejecting his attempt to understand it, a defense mechanism meant to guard secrets beyond his comprehension.
Deus Necros, a God perhaps? Or maybe something beyond. An entity that rules over death and the undead. A neutral entity that seeks no control or power, nor does it have a champion.
Void of all emotions, it works in mystery as it oversees the laws of death and protects them jealously from the interference of other gods.
Those of the light path wished to bring back those who were once hailed as heroes and lost their lives in battle, and those of the dark path wished to bring back those of most heinous of acts. Deeds and feats simple to invoke for entities that can define reality as we know it, yet Deus Necros never agreed to the return of any of them back to life.
He guarded their souls jealously, and only those that ever ‘came back’, they returned in the form of Undeath.
The title, Deus Necros, suggested a deity or perhaps something even greater. An entity that governed over death and the undead. According to the text, this entity operated beyond the realm of mortal understanding, overseeing the laws of death and safeguarding them against interference from other gods.
Ghouls, Vampires, Banshees, ghosts and more, not among the living, and never among the dead, to forever walk the realm never finding peace due to having disrespected Deus Necros’s eternal law of Death.
To Die is to rest. To defy that is to forever roam without ever seeing rest. And it is a law carved in every living being.
For how the Undead came to be, it is a secret that Deus Necros has kept for a long time, until we Dark Mages managed to figure out bits and pieces of such a secret.
Necromancy, the Art of raising the Dead, a feat that cannot simply be called miraculous but rather divine. And at the same time, an extremely delicate and difficult art to master but quite easy to begin learning.
We Necromancers should never consider that it is us who bring back the dead. We only open the path for them to return, but it is only by the grace of Deus Necros that they are allowed to return. And you as a catalyst must always bear it in mind, you are but a tool and he is the source.
Ludwig’s mind reeled as he continued reading. The more he understood, the more painful the process became. Each line felt like a hot iron brand against his consciousness, a warning that this knowledge was not meant for him.
As for our lesson, let’s start with raising a rat…
Ludwig’s mind was on the verge of splitting apart when he finally noticed something. The room was no longer empty. He turned, his movements slow and strained, to see Bastos Van Dijk standing behind him, a sinister gleam in his eyes.
“Interesting. QUITE INTERESTING!” Van Dijk’s voice was like a dagger of ice stabbing through Ludwig’s bones. The Dark Mage’s face was lit with a perverse excitement, his eyes wide with a kind of manic glee.
Ludwig was too stunned to respond. If he had been capable of sweating, he would have been drenched. The fact that he had been caught reading something so potentially forbidden made his nonexistent heart quiver in terror. Or simply the act of ‘Reading’ was enough to entice Van Dijk to almost ecstasy.
“The fact that your head is steaming means you’re struggling to comprehend what’s in front of you,” Van Dijk said, his tone a mixture of amusement and fascination. “Not only was I wrong about you lacking sentience, but you actually show intelligence. Enough to read and even learn from the text at hand.”
He approached Ludwig, his gaze never leaving the skeleton. “You see,” he began, almost as if lecturing, “only high-level undead possess the intellect necessary to understand magic. A lich, for example, must either be created by a mightier force—an Arch-Lich or an extraordinarily powerful necromancer—or must be a former human with enough magical knowledge to willingly turn to undeath.
Vampires retain their memories and intellect upon turning, and Death Knights are already imbued with immense power and intelligence. But you, you’re just a skeleton. You shouldn’t have sentience, let alone the capacity to read and understand complex texts. So why? Why do you read? I scanned your mind, and it was empty.
I searched your memories, and there was nothing. Yet here you are, learning. Quite the discovery.”
Ludwig slowly placed the book down, unsure of how to respond or even if he was allowed to. His mind was racing, trying to process what Van Dijk had said and what it meant for him.
“CONTINUE!” Van Dijk’s sudden shout made Ludwig’s bones rattle.
[You have been given a direct command!]
Ludwig’s hands moved against his will, picking the book back up and resuming his reading. The pain intensified, but he couldn’t stop. It was as if Van Dijk’s command was forcing the words into his mind, burning them into his very soul. His head began to steam, literal wisps of vapor rising from his skull as the arcane knowledge took its toll.
“Interesting,” Van Dijk mused, observing Ludwig with an almost clinical interest. “Your health isn’t dropping, and your pain tolerance is only temporary. You won’t lose your sanity even if you read the most difficult of books, nor will you fall unconscious. A book of this level would kill a human who tried to read it. But you… you persist.
The Curse of Undeath, the Endless Stamina given by Deus Necros to all of his ‘Pure’ Undead. If only Vampires had that, they’d rule the world but they already possess so much strength that Deus Necros denied them the Endless Stamina of the Undead. “
Ludwig’s mind reeled as he read on, the text blurring as he tried to make sense of its meaning. The book spoke of necromancy in intricate detail, of the various forms of undead and their capabilities, of the delicate balance between life, death, and undeath. It was knowledge far beyond his current level, but he absorbed it, piece by painful piece.
“Now,” Van Dijk muttered, almost to himself, “should I dissect you? Perhaps I’ll find out more…”
The words sent a jolt of fear through Ludwig. He could almost feel the icy fingers of death gripping his spine, the cold metal of surgical tools hovering over him, ready to tear him apart. But then, the mage sighed, his excitement giving way to resignation.
“No, it would be a waste. I’d be no different from those two fools who brought you back improperly. Speaking of which, they’ve returned.”
Van Dijk grabbed the black necromancy book that the necromancers had left behind, placing it on a shelf with a dismissive gesture. He then pulled up a chair, setting it in front of Ludwig as he continued to read.
“Hold on.”
[You have been given a direct command!]
Ludwig stopped reading, raising his head to look at Van Dijk.
“If you can read,” Van Dijk began, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing light, “then you can understand. And if you can understand, then speak.”
[You have been given a direct command!]
[Under the Blessing of Deus Necros, some of your words will be altered.]
“Yes…”
The word slipped from Ludwig’s mouth, his voice low and hollow. It was his voice, but it wasn’t. It sounded foreign, detached from him.
Van Dijk’s eyes widened in manic delight. “IT SPEAKS!” he exclaimed, nearly knocking his chair over as he stood. “Tell me! Who are you? What are you? Where do you come from?”
[You have been given a direct command!]
[Under the Blessing of Deus Necros, some of your words will be altered.]
Ludwig tried to resist, but his mouth moved on its own, forming words against his will. “I am… Ludwig. I am… a skeleton… I do not remember.”
Van Dijk scrutinized him closely, his eyes narrowing as he processed the words. “Hmm… interesting. This still fits with your lack of memory. I guess you’re simply a mutated type. Something new. Oh, how I wish I could open that skull of yours, but you’re too precious to waste.
Tell me, what have you learned so far from that book?”
Ludwig hesitated, his mind racing for an answer that wouldn’t give away too much. But the compulsion to speak was too strong. “How to raise a rat,” he said simply.
Van Dijk raised an eyebrow. “You know how, but can you do it?”
Ludwig shook his head. “Too low mana.” He raised a finger, channeling what little mana he had. It gathered at the tip of his finger, flickering briefly before sputtering out like a dying candle flame.
“Argh! What a waste!” Van Dijk roared in frustration. “Those blundering fools! If they needed to bring you back, they should have tried to make you a Draugr at least! WHY A SKELETON? A Draugr still has internal organs, a heart even!
I could have grafted a mana circle into it! Damn those idiots! The more I think about it, the more I want to rip out their livers and eat them in front of them!”
Van Dijk’s aura flared wildly, the air around him growing heavy with a palpable, malevolent force. Even the spirits that clung to him seemed to recoil, too terrified to approach him as his rage boiled over.
But just as quickly as his fury had erupted, it subsided. The dark mage sighed, adjusting his glasses with a cold, calculating calm. “Fine. It’ll be a hassle, but I can still fix it. Regardless, magic without knowledge is useless. And everything here”—he gestured around the room—”is completely beyond your scope.
Hmm… let’s start with the basics. Yes, I’ll be your teacher. My first ever direct pupil.”
His smile stretched unnaturally, a grin that spoke of madness more than joy. And in that smile, Ludwig saw his own impending doom.
Terror gripped Ludwig’s soul, his nonexistent heart filled with a dread that surpassed any fear he had felt before.